


1 + 1 = <3

by kekinkawaii



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22168078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kekinkawaii/pseuds/kekinkawaii
Summary: “So I have absolutely no clue how to do this,” Dean confessed, smile sliding a little sheepishly. “You’re the smartest kid in the class, so I was wondering if you could maybe help me a little?”“Oh,” Castiel said. (Of course, what else would he be here for, there isn’t any other reason he’d be talking to him—)(In which Castiel is oblivious, Dean's patience only runs so far, and Anna enjoys the show.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 26
Kudos: 241
Collections: fanfics que eu traduzi ❤





	1 + 1 = <3

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [1 + 1 = <3 | Tradução/Translation PT-BR ✅](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28454997) by [Queen_von_Fantasien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_von_Fantasien/pseuds/Queen_von_Fantasien)



> Now with a translation by the lovely Queen_von_Fantasien! Thank you <333

The steady, rhythmic beating of drums and smooth guitar drowned out the chatter of the class. Castiel bent over his paper, penning down equations as quickly as he could, one after the other. He was on a roll, the music faded to white noise somewhere in the distant background of his mind.

When the tap on his shoulder came, he nearly brained himself on the desk.

Letting out what was probably an ungraceful yelp, Castiel scrambled to get his dignity back. He touched one of his earbuds, effectively pausing the music, shut his eyes for a moment to pull his mind out from polynomials and triple roots, and then turned to face the newcomer.

He took one look and his mind, stumbling out of the pit of precalc and ambling towards the cesspool of socialization, immediately tripped and fell.

“Uh, hey,” said Dean Winchester, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. “Castiel?”

Suddenly short of breath, Castiel nodded.

Dean shot him one of his trademark sideways grins. “How you doin’, Cas?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Castiel said, feeling a flush treacherously crawling up the back of his neck. He averted his gaze to the worksheet in front of him.

“Good,” Dean said. “That’s good. Anyway, um—” He broke off again.

Castiel dared to look back. Dean was biting his lip. He tore his eyes away again, steeled himself, then rematched Dean’s gaze with a prompting look.

Dean was holding a sheet of paper in his hands. He raised it, giving it a little shake. Tiny eraser bits fell through the air, landing on Castiel’s desk.

“So I have absolutely no clue how to do this,” Dean confessed, smile sliding a little sheepishly. “You’re the smartest kid in the class, so I was wondering if you could maybe help me a little?”

“Oh,” Castiel said. (Of course, what else would he be here for, there isn’t any other reason he’d be talking to him—) “Yes, of course. Where are you stuck on?”

Dean hummed, scrunching up his nose, and pointed at one of the lines on his paper. It was covered in scribble marks and tiny doodles. “Right here,” he said, “on question three.”

Castiel took a moment to read over it, and then he nodded. “You’re on the right track,” he said. “You’ve already gotten the formula for the function family, but this question is asking for a specific equation.” He pointed at the paper. “See, here: sub in four as the y-intercept, and solve for a. Then simplify the equation and you’ve got the answer.”

He gauged Dean’s reaction. “Does that make sense?” he asked, smiling encouragingly.

Dean blinked his green eyes. “Yeah,” he said, sounding—not confused, but strangely hesitant. “That makes sense. Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel shrugged modestly. “No problem.”

He raised a hand to his ear to touch his earbud, unpausing his music, and scanned the next question on his worksheet.

He was just about to pick up his pen and continue his work, when he felt the continuing presence next to him. 

After another second of stillness, Castiel looked back up where Dean was hovering.

John Lennon still crooning in his ears, he raised his eyebrows in a wordless question.

Dean looked away, a hand coming up to rake through already-messy blond hair. He mouthed something Castiel couldn’t make out, and then turned and shuffled away to his own desk (all the way on the other side of the room, next to Charlie and Anna).

Fighting the urge to watch him leave, Castiel directed his full attention to brushing the eraser shavings off of his desk and tried his utmost best to dash all lingering thoughts of bright green eyes and playful smiles out of his head.

-+-+-+-

When the bell rang, Anna was waiting for Castiel at the door with a huge, suspicion-inducing smile on her face. 

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “What,” he said flatly.

If anything, the smile grew wider. “Oh, nothing,” Anna chirped.

“You know I don’t care if you tell me or not,” Castiel said. “If you want me to start pestering you about it, I’m not going to.”

Anna’s smile was wiped away by a pout. “C’mon, Cassie,” she wheedled. “You’re no fun.”

Castiel gave her a  _ what-can-you-do _ look. “You look like you’re dying to tell someone, though, so the offer’s open,” he said.

Letting out a huff, Anna crossed her arms. “Nope, too bad.”

Castiel shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

The two of them made it all the way to Castiel’s locker before Anna burst.

“Okay, okay!” she said. Castiel smiled.

Anna leaned against the locker next to Castiel’s and waited until Castiel had finished putting on his coat and his boots before speaking, demanding his full attention.

She cleared her throat dramatically. 

“Dean Winchester,” she announced.

Castiel nearly stumbled while standing still. 

“What about him?” he asked, and grimaced at how uncertain his voice sounded.

“Don’t make me say it,” Anna said, that goddamn smile coming back again at full force. “You definitely had fun in math class today.”

“Anna, please,” Castiel said. “He was just asking me for math help.  _ Everyone  _ asks me for math help.” 

“And since when did everyone include Dean-freaking-Winchester?” Anna said, voice rising incredulously.

“Keep your voice down!” Castiel hissed. 

“Seriously,” Anna said, “since when did Dean Winchester ask for math help? From anyone?”

“Stop calling him by his full name,” Castiel muttered, “you’re making him sound like a celebrity or something.”

“Well,” Anna said. “Have you  _ seen _ him?’

“Ugh,” Castiel said, with feeling, and then, “It  _ is  _ an advanced class. The course work has gotten more difficult. He probably just needed some extra help.”

“Mmm, extra help,” Anna said, somehow managing to make the phrase sound like a euphemism pulled from thin air.

Castiel rolled his eyes and lightly shoved Anna on the shoulder to make her move. “Whatever, Anna. You can keep dreaming up your ridiculous fanfiction scenarios.” He started towards the stairs, fully prepared to let the topic drop.

“Hey!” Anna said, catching up. “First of all: my fanfiction is glorious _.  _ Second of all: you never know. I’m serious, Cassie,” she said when Castiel started to roll his eyes again. “You’re smart, you’re sarcastic, you’re cute as hell—you’re a goddamned  _ catch.” _

“Aww, thanks,” Castiel said, half-sarcastically, though it did manage to nudge a smile out of him. “But it’s—” He hesitated, then resigned to his hypocriticalness— “It’s  _ Dean Winchester.” _

“There’s no way,” he said firmly, after a second of thought.

Dean was into fun, flirty, and (mostly, but  _ mostly  _ was no reason enough to debunk anything) female. Cheerleaders and leadership kids and sports team captains. Dean was the kind of guy you’d see kissing the Prom Queen. 

Castiel was Exec Leader of Mathletes, played the alto sax in band, and spent last year’s semiformal at home playing Dungeons and Dragons on a Discord voice call.

Which was exactly why Castiel would not, could not, believe it. He wouldn’t even let himself think it.

-+-+-+-

This time when Castiel felt the shoulder tap, he reacted much less violently, with just a twitch and a gasp.

He tapped his earbud and turned around. “Dean,” he said (first name only, he thought, decisively, childishly). 

“Cas,” Dean said, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. They were very nice lips, Castiel thought absently, and then wanted to kick himself.

“Good afternoon,” Castiel said cautiously.

“You, too,” Dean said, looking content to just stand there and smile at him.

Castiel shifted in his seat. “Do you—um. Do you need more math help?”

“Sure do,” Dean said. “Sorry for bothering you so much, I just—”

“It’s fine,” Castiel interrupted. “It’s alright, Dean. I don’t mind.” He nodded at the sheet of paper clutched in Dean’s hands. “What do you need help with?”

“This, uh,” Dean muttered. “Triple root sh—stuff,” he hastily corrected, glancing at the teacher, who was marking tests only a few desks away from Castiel’s.

“Okay,” Castiel said. “Let me look at that for a second.”

When Dean handed the paper to Castiel, their hands brushed together and Castiel unknowingly sucked in a sharp breath, cursing Anna inside his head. He quickly read through what Dean had so far.

“Right, so a triple root, when graphed, looks like this—called a bend.” Uncertain whether or not he had Dean’s permission to draw on his homework (it was something that drove Castiel absolutely nuts, and even though he was nearly certain Dean was the type of person not to care in the slightest, he would rather not take the risk), he traced it with a finger. “The bend portion doesn’t have to be on the x-axis, either. Just remember that, if it’s shifted, the part that crosses the x-axis is a real, distinct root, whereas the ones that don’t are complex.”

Dean made a curious sound. “So, if it tells me that a function has complex roots, I know that there’s a, uh, a bend in the graph?”

“Exactly,” Castiel said. “Another thing to remember is that complex roots always comes in pairs—you’ll never have an odd number of them.”

“Why's that?” Dean asked.

“Because you obtain complex roots via the quadratic formula,” Castiel explained, a little more animated now as he fell solidly into his comfort zone. This, he could do. “Which always gives you two answers: answers that are, in fact, binomial conjugates every time.”

“Huh,” Dean said. “Cool.”

What made Castiel pause then was the piqued tone in his voice. He wasn’t just dismissing him, not like Gabe sometimes did when Castiel got too carried away (sticking his fingers into his ears and humming pointedly wasn't very subtle). Dean had his full attention turned towards Castiel, it seemed: eyes intent and focused.

“Isn’t it?” Castiel said, with a grin he couldn't help, propelled by the pleasure of someone else’s acknowledgment.

“Yeah,” Dean said, grinning right back—sunny and fierce and so bright it made something in Castiel flutter.

A pause, and it slid into something inquisitive. “You really do like math, huh?" Dean commented. "Like, it’s not just a class you have to take at school.”

“Absolutely,” Castiel replied. “I love math. I’m a loser, I know,” he added dryly.

“What? No!” Dean said, so loudly that a few heads raised and stared at Dean (a few more meaningful than the rest, particularly from Lisa, sitting two seats to the left of Castiel, who shot a pursed-lipped look at him, squinty-eyed, before returning to her work). 

Castiel blinked at the sudden emotion. 

Seeming not to care about the bout of attention his outburst brought, Dean lowered his voice.

“If anyone ever tells you that loving math makes you a loser, kick them in the balls,” he said, and raised his eyebrows. “Got it?”

Castiel couldn’t conceal a snort of laughter. “Dean, I haven’t kicked any balls—biological or otherwise—since peewee soccer in preschool. I’d be giving them more ammunition.”

“Well, then,” Dean said, “come and tell me and I’ll kick them in the balls for you.” He grinned. “Alright, Cas?”

Castiel looked at Dean and shook his head disbelievingly, letting out an amused exhale. “Alright, Dean,” he relented, playing along.

“Good,” Dean said firmly. “Nobody should make fun of you for being passionate about something.”

“That’s… kind of you to say,” Castiel said, flummoxed by the sincerity in the boy's voice. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Dean said easily. “See: case in point. If you weren’t so interested in math, there’s no way you could’ve gotten this good at it, and I wouldn’t have someone to ask for help, now, wouldn’t I?”

(Oh. Right.)

Because Dean was the kind of guy to score a three-pointer or home run or whatever the hell it was called, and then run to some popular, preppy girl to the cheers of the crowd after delivering a shining quote to the school newspaper journalist. He was easy carefree grins and fist pumps. And he was definitely not into someone who spent his free time writing math contests for fun.

“No, Dean, you wouldn’t,” Castiel said. “Good luck on the rest of your homework,” he said, and raised a hand to tap his earbud.

He could feel Dean standing there next to him, even as he picked up his pen and jotted down the equation to the next question, but he refused to look up.

-+-+-+-

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Castiel felt like he could recognize him simply from the pressure, the rhythm, the feel of it by now. Class had ended nearly twenty minutes ago; he was out in the pod, hoping to finish today’s homework before he went home. Why Dean decided to channel his inner academic, Castiel didn’t know. Maybe he had a game tonight and wanted to ask for Castiel’s help to finish his work faster.

He touched his earbud; didn’t bother taking it out. 

“Hi, Dean,” he said, turning around at the same time.

Dean had his hands in his jean pockets, this time. No worksheet. “Heya, Cas,” he said.

“What do you need help with?” Castiel asked, bluntly.

Something flickered in Dean’s eyes, and he tilted his head a fraction. “What, I can’t I just say hi?”

“Say hi?” Castiel snorted. “Dean, school ended twenty minutes ago. There isn’t any reason for you to ‘say hi’.”

He steeled himself, and then looked right into Dean’s eyes, and forced himself not to waver. Whatever Anna had said needed to be banished from his mind, and the best way to solve a problem was to face it head-on. “You’re only talking to me because you need help in math, and that’s fine, I completely understand—and I would love to help, but if you please, just don’t pretend we’re friends.”

He swallowed, and then said, “I’m sorry, but I really want to finish today’s homework. I’m sure someone else could help you.”

He raised a hand to tap his earbud.

Dean’s hand shot out and intercepted it.

Castiel didn’t try to take it back, curiosity and annoyance and confusion intermingled. He looked at Dean with impatient eyes. “What?”

“Cas,” Dean said, and, when Castiel did nothing but turn up the amperage of interrogation in his eyes,  _ “Cas.  _ You’re killin’ me.”

Dean moved their hands higher, shifted their palms together, and laced his fingers into Castiel’s.

Castiel went utterly, completely still.

“Did you ever wonder why I always asked  _ you?”  _ Dean said. “You said it yourself: school was over twenty minutes ago. Why am I still here? And, even before today—I sit all the way across the room, in the very back. Why I would go through all the trouble of getting up and walking all the way over here? And why, tell me, Cas, tell me why on Earth I would ask  _ you, _ instead of the teacher herself? Cas, can you answer those questions for me? I’ve asked you so many, I’m sure you can help me one more time.” He sounded frustrated, on the brink of exasperation.

“Oh,” Castiel said. His voice was very faint. “Oh, my God.”

“Did you get it?” Dean said. “Did you finally figure it out, Cas?”

Castiel found it very hard to move, but he forced himself to meet Dean’s eyes. “I—I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not sure.”

Dean let out a half-groan, half-hysterical laugh. “First time you had to say _ that,” _ he said, and then took a deep breath and squeezed Castiel’s hand and lightly danced his thumb across the back of Castiel’s wrist. 

“I really like you, Cas,” Dean said. “As in: I want to take you out. On a date. Please?”

“Oh,” Castiel said again, and thought,  _ Anna is going to have a field day. _

For some reason, he found this incurably, intolerably funny, and it began to pull at his mouth until he smiled and then grinned, so wide it hurt his cheeks.

Dean asked, “Cas?” his voice quiet and careful and hopeful, and Castiel let out a tiny, disbelieving laugh and tugged Dean closer with their intertwined hands so that he could press his face against Dean’s shoulder, burying his smile. His jacket smelled like cut grass.

Dean’s free hand came up to cradle the back of Castiel’s head, sifting fingers through his hair. “Is that a yes?” he asked.

Castiel lifted his head, and raised his own free hand to cup the back of Dean’s neck, feeling the pulse thrum beneath in a rapid sync with his own.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s a yes.”

Dean broke into a splitting beam. He leaned in to touch their foreheads together briefly, then pulled apart, keeping their faces inches away.

“Can I—can I kiss you?” he said quietly, the words hovering within their shared space.

Castiel searched for the appropriate words, and found none good enough. He nodded.

He caught a flash of green, a sparkle, and held it close as he slipped his eyes shut and felt Dean lean in and it burst into a brilliant kaleidoscope inside his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into Destiel! I'm contemplating writing more in this fandom, so if you enjoyed this, please leave a comment! It's what keeps me going. I love feedback more than Cas loves burgers. Thank you so much for reading <33


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